


A Daedric Prince's Guide to Farming

by kingtear



Category: Elder Scrolls, Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Crack, Gen, Humor, Mehrunes Dagon is the Farmer, Slice of Life, and Barbas is his dog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28911777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingtear/pseuds/kingtear
Summary: "This is a vacation, after all," said Vile.“A forced one,” grumbled Dagon.“You lost the bet and failed to restart the Mythic Era, so,” Vile shrugged, “that’s on you."*Mehrunes Dagon is Stardew Valley's newest resident. Good fucking luck.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	A Daedric Prince's Guide to Farming

**Author's Note:**

> hi welcome to my crack fic inspired by my Stardew Valley playthrough where I named my character "Dagon" and had everything be Oblivion themed
> 
> for anyone reading this (if anyone at all does LMAO) who isn't familiar with elder scrolls, mehrunes dagon is basically a demon king/prince whose domain is destruction, revolution, ambition, change, and energy. he has tried to destroy the world (a few times) and is pretty unanimously considered Evil™

The valley’s newest resident stepped off the bus, fresh-faced and eager to begin his new life. He tousled his straw-colored hair, eyes shining in the bright morning sunlight.

“Ah,” he sighed contentedly, taking a step towards the future, “I’m finally free.” 

On his second step, a void tore a rift in the space in front of him, and an enormous hand reached out and promptly pulled him into the blackness.

“What manner of creature is this, Vile?” said Mehrunes Dagon, looking upon the puny thing as one might look upon a particularly deformed rat. 

Clavicus Vile shimmered and transformed himself so that he was eye-level with the human, who was stone-still and catatonic as one tends to be when ripped through dimensions into a place that the vast majority of people would consider hell. Vile prodded the thing toward Dagon’s towering form.

“This is your new vessel, my dear friend,” Vile said smugly. “You’ll be possessing him for the duration of your vacation.”

Dagon blanched, all four arms jolting back, then collected himself and donned his usual fiery look of outrage. “I will  _ not _ . Such a pitiful vessel would not be able to handle the full extent of my power. Its very flesh would crumble to ash.” He looked a mite pleased at the thought.

“Not to worry! You won’t need all your mighty powers. This is a  _ vacation _ , after all.”

“A forced one,” grumbled Dagon.

“You lost the bet and failed to restart the Mythic Era, so,” Vile shrugged, “that’s on you. Besides, it’s a good idea to suppress your energy a little. Lay low. Get that dragon fucker to back off before he starts poking holes in the Deadlands for the next few centuries.”

“I fear  _ nothing _ , certainly not that miserable excuse for a—”

“A deal’s a deal anyway, Runey,” interrupted Vile, just to make Dagon’s eyes burst into flames. He was so easy to rile up. “Suit up.”

Dagon scrubbed a hand over his face. “Fine.” With his lowest arm, he lifted the creature by its head and looked into its beady eyes. Ugh. Blue like the mortal sky. The most disgusting of all colors. “Truly hideous. I will at least have to make some adjustments.”

“Er, be careful with it. Humans aren’t really supposed to be held by their head alone. I found that out myself the hard way.”

Dagon promptly dropped it. It released a pitiable moan of pain when its legs snapped from the fall.

“Vile, do know that I hate you for this.”

“Oh, it’s been  _ dearly  _ noted.”

*

Dagon dusted off the lingering daedric energy, which resembled soot rather closely, from his now marble pale skin as he strode down the dirt path.

“Ugh. How do I clean this disgusting meatsuit?” he complained to the grey dog (“dog” is used dubiously here) trotting alongside him.

“Just spell it away or something,” said Barbas.

“I have no time for such parlor tricks,” Dagon snapped. He had no idea how to do that. In his true form energy was not visible when it clung to his body because he was made entirely of it. He also accumulated no dirt or dust or similar physical material. “Perhaps I should vaporize every particle that yet clings to this body.”

“You’re gonna set yourself on fire? And ruin the clothes Mankar made for you?”

“I have more precision than that,” he said, even though he did not. He had not yet adjusted to the restrictions of the vessel. He decided to not risk it — Mankar had done such a lovely job with the stitching. The black doublet and trousers made him passably fetching, insomuch as a human could be.

“I could lick it off you,” Barbas said with a hungry gleam in his eye.

“If your scratchy mutt tongue comes within half a meter of my skin, I will destroy you.”

“I’ll just come back.”

“You’re a blathering nuisance.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much my whole thing. And you’re stuck with me.”

“Vile needed a break, clearly.”

“I needed a break from him. Can you believe he had someone kill me with an axe  _ again _ ? The routine is getting stale. They always pick the damn axe.”

By now they had made good progress through the forest and were fast approaching the plot of land that Dagon would be bound to for the next… indeterminate. He forgot how long a human lifetime was.

“Wow, this place is a real shithole,” said Barbas. This summed up nicely what Dagon was also thinking.

The land was overgrown with weeds and sprawling brush, and fields of grass had cropped up entirely uncontrolled beneath copses of trees. It looked like an ugly forest. Although in Dagon’s opinion, all forests were ugly and every time his gaze fell upon one he’d be struck by a mighty urge to set it ablaze. 

“This is unacceptable,” he declared. Even the tiny mortals who scurried about Cyrodiil had better estates than this, and the lot of them were utter buffoons (no matter that one of them had foiled his plans). “Scamps,” twenty spindly imps poured out of voids behind him, “take care of this mess.”

“Uh,” said Barbas.

“Without using fire,” Dagon amended reluctantly.

Barbas nosed his leg. “If any humans wander over here, they’re going to ask questions.”

“They will also ask questions about a talking dog.”

“Ruff. Get rid of your minions. Ruff.”

“Ugh,” said Dagon, dismissing the scamps with a wave of his hand, “then they will work at night. I’m not performing manual labor.”

He walked the perimeter to take stock of his new domain. There was a pond teeming with slimy amphibious beings (“Frogs,” supplied Barbas with one trapped between his jaws), a pathetic excuse for a cavern, and the ruins of a glass climate-regulation dome. Perhaps he would grow some canis root and deathbell, steep it into tea and distribute it to the town.

“You can’t poison them,” reminded Barbas as they inspected the dome. “Or kill them. Or cause grievous physical harm. Or minor physical harm. Except in the case of self-defense.”

“I am aware. I don’t need a keeper.”

Barbas nipped his hand. The pile of deathbell seeds he summoned scattered to the ground.

“...That was a subconscious summons,” said Dagon, and hurried on.

In a far corner of the plot was a statue that shone with dormant magick. Dagon sent an investigative tendril of energy into its core.

“Soul gem,” said Barbas, sniffing around its base. “Or soul statue, if we’re getting into technicalities.”

“I was unaware this plane’s inhabitants knew how to access Aetherius.”

“Smells a little different to me, but I’m guessing the principles are all the same — what’s that,” said Barbas as a ghost emerged from the stone.

The ghost was a bearded old man — or at least, it was until Dagon’s energy had corrupted it. It now bore a greater resemblance to a melting ice cream cone than a man. 

“It was a squatter upon my territory. And now it is destroyed,” Dagon said gleefully. The ghost bellowed, a terrible aching noise, as the tattered remains of its soul were wrenched to Oblivion.

Barbas snapped his jaws in the air where it once stood and then turned to Dagon, disappointed. “Could have saved me a snack at least.”

“You haven’t been a good dog,” sniffed Dagon.

**Author's Note:**

> will post sporadically as i get inspired to write more dumb shit


End file.
